


Restraint

by days4daisy



Category: The Expanse (TV)
Genre: Altered States, Aphrodisiacs, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, M/M, Season/Series 02, Unexpected feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-11-04 06:13:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10985034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: Triple dose is no joke apparently.





	Restraint

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Billythesock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Billythesock/gifts).



> Thank you for the fun prompts, Billythesock! I hope you enjoy this happy bit of smut :)

Alex rounds the corner just in time to see a half-delirious Amos stumble. Once upon a time, he might have gotten a kick out of Amos off his game, but the novelty is wearing off. The guy gets shot every other week now, and Alex is tired of seeing him in pain. Goddamn 'feelings' and whatnot...

The idiot tries to catch his fall with the wrong arm. Same one connected to the shoulder with the bullet hole through it. The noise Amos makes is _way_ wrong, sharp and startled as he jerks his injured arm back. His flight suit is unzipped to the waist, gray muscle shirt sticking to his back. Alex places a tentative hand on his arm. Amos tenses.

"Easy, partner," Alex says. "Where you headed? Infirmary?"

"I got it, Alex," Amos mumbles. Discomfort flutters under his jaw.

"Sure don't look like you got it," Alex mutters. Blood stains Amos' shoulder bandages. His face is worse; sweat-shined, eyes bright with fever. Amos hasn’t been able to get back to his feet yet. He blinks at the ground like it won't stay still. "Hey, Amos." Alex reaches out again, but he’s startled to a halt by Amos’ violent wave. A painful-looking spasm follows. It's like he can't even control himself.

Curious, Alex moves his hand between Amos' shoulder blades. Amos grunts. If possible, he feels warmer, unsteady breaths through an open mouth. "You, uh..." Alex strokes a ridge of his spine. It coaxes a shiver out of Amos, tension under his skin. "You take that shot?"

"Naomi dosed me," Amos murmurs, sandpaper-rough. "Had to put me down."

"She _what_?" It's like ice down Alex’s back. He takes his hand off Amos and pretends not to hear the hiss at their loss of contact. "What happened?"

"Tried to stop her," Amos explains. "Thought they'd kill her. I shouldn’t have done that. It was her choice." If Naomi had to put Amos out of commission, it means Amos was wrong in a big way. At least Amos gets that he messed up. Isn’t always the case, screwed as his head gets sometimes.

A new thought crosses Alex's mind. "How much she give you, partner?"

Amos’ eyes are wild. There's humor in them, and a note of panic. "Triple dose," he mumbles.

Alex's gut goes prickly. Amos knows it too. Gives his lips a lick that's not-at-all subtle. Alex should worry about how fixed Amos’ eyes are, intense and full-of-pupil. Instead, he’s angry. "But you don’t need my help, huh? Some TLC downstairs with the plant doc and you’ll be good as new?"

Amos breathes a laugh, a note of desperation in the back of his throat. "Gonna help me instead, brother?"

"Shut up," Alex mutters. He thumbs across Amos’ cheek; the guy’s pink as a virgin. Amos’ eyes lose focus. Triple dose is no joke apparently.

Alex has seen Amos after one shot of this crazy pain-killer. He winds down warm and lazy, hanging off Alex like he's drunk. Horny as a dog in heat too. Mouths at Alex’s neck, runs those big hands all over his body. Alex doesn't complain. The sex is good, and he’s got a hoard of blackmail-fodder from the stupid shit Amos spouts while half-lucid.

But this is three times that. This is a breath sucked in after a thumb across the mouth. His bottom lip quivers from the effort of self-restraint.

Amos winces and staggers to his feet. Alex shouldn't care about the nipples balled hard under his shirt, or the outline of his erection in his flight suit. But he does, and Amos can tell. "This is a bad idea," Amos says.

He's quiet and uncertain, and it puts Alex on edge. "Not doing so hot, huh?"

Amos licks his lips again, and Alex's eyes shoot right there. "I could hurt you," he warns. “Who’d fly the ship if I did that?” Amos’ stare is glassy, mouth twitching with concentration. His good arm wraps around himself.

Alex makes up his mind. He nods for Amos to follow. “C’mon, chief.”

Amos doesn’t argue with him anymore. Maybe he can't.

Against Alex's better judgment, he sneaks looks at Amos. Amos is limping, injured arm at his side. His other hand itches under his shirt. Starts to peel it up, then jerks back like it's been burned. A bead of sweat rolls down the side of his face.

It's crazy how into him Alex is. He would have never been caught dead with an Earther back in the day, but the Roci's made strange bedfellows of everyone. Literally, in their case.

This is a stupid idea. Alex should let Amos get help from Prax. He knows what Amos is capable of when he loses his head. Hell, he was almost tossed skull-first between flight decks last time the guy went red. The drug should make Amos want to bang every living thing in the cosmos. But he held it together with Naomi and a ship full of refugees. Kept it hidden from Holden too.

With Alex, Amos is a goddamn trainwreck. Probably means nothing, but Alex will take the compliment.

The door to Alex's bunk shuts with a clang. Amos flinches and glowers at the metal latch. He's shaking visibly. "So..." Alex shifts his weight, "what do you need, partner?"

Amos chuckles, more than a little unstable. "Don't ask me that." His words start to slur.

"Amos-"

"I can't make a goddamn decision on a good day. The hell makes you think I can make one now?" It's true. And insane. Amos is looking at Alex like he’ll tear right through him if given the chance.

Alex's heart rabbits in his chest. "Start with the clothes then.” He manages the suggestion with a straight face. But he falters when Amos shivers, lip hooked between his teeth.

Amos starts with the rest of his flight suit, already unzipped to his waist. He undoes his belt with an unsteady hand. His dick is a heavy presence in the front of his underwear.

Frustration grits Amos’ teeth as he tries to work his shirt over his bad shoulder. Alex reaches out to help him. "Here, let me-" His fingers graze Amos’ back.

Alex sees stars when his spine hits his wall. Amos has him pinned, thick forearm across his throat, mouth crushed against his. Alex hisses, not sure if he's protesting or encouraging. "Sorry," Amos forces weakly. "Had to."

Alex settles a hand in the small of Amos' back. Marvels at how Amos’ body arches for him. Hips press into his, quiet pleasure buried against his neck. "Jesus," Alex breathes, "you can't control it, can you?"

He's caught off-guard by the shudder that rolls through Amos' body. "Fuck," Amos hisses. " _Fuck_ , Alex."

“You ok?” Alex asks, which is ridiculous since _he’s_ the one with the arm across his throat. The grip relaxes to a hand that settles flat across Alex’s chest.

Amos huffs against his neck. “Smell so good, you motherfucker.”

Alex smirks despite himself. His mouth brushes Amos’ forehead. Amos reacts to it, a grunt muffled against his throat. “Sure do,” Alex agrees. “Can't help it, partner. Might have to tie you down if you don’t come out of this soon.” He’s joking when he says it.

But the drugs in Amos’ system don’t take it like that. Alex hisses when teeth graze his throat. “Watch it,” he gasps, but he’s distracted by rough hands forcing down the zipper of his flight suit. Amos tears the open garment down his arms. He tongues at Alex's collar.

“Take your shirt off.” Amos’ voice is quiet. “Can’t do it with my arm.”

It’s uncharacteristic, and it yanks Alex back to reality. A fever blares under the lips he touches to Amos’ forehead. “This ain’t a good idea,” Alex risks. “The plant doc’s still a doc, he can-”

“Please.” It’s the last thing Alex would ever expect Amos to say. He’s stunned quiet by the word, and by the large eyes staring at him.

This is a terrible idea - Alex thinks, as he rips his shirt over his head. Underneath, he’s dark skin and darker hair. Not some chiseled statue like Amos. Years off the Navy have softened Alex’s body, but he still works at it. He’s got nothing to hide.

Still weird when Amos sighs like he won top hand at the high-end table. “Goddamn, look at you,” he marvels. Amos is all lips and fingers. He bites his way down Alex's chest, breaths warm and rough.

A nipple disappears under Amos’ lips. It’s not fair, the guy’s mouth. Pulled thick and all puffed up and wet. Curled in a tight circle, tongue over the flat of the nub. “Know how to make a guy feel wanted-” Alex’s voice breaks in a groan.

“Who doesn’t want you?” Amos demands out of nowhere. “I’ll knock some sense into ‘em.”

“Shut the hell up, no one’s knocking sense into - shit!” He’s not expecting Amos’ hand on his belt, or the clatter it makes hitting the floor across the room. Amos yanks down the rest of his flight suit’s zipper, and the fabric peels off Alex's body without a fight. He's on his knees before Alex can remember to breathe.

“Fine," Amos murmurs. "Rather do this anyway.” He peels Alex's underwear down.

“You would, huh?” It’s a bad attempt to save face.

Amos is staring _hard_ at his half-aroused dick. “You ok with this?” he asks. “I won’t do it if you say no. I want you to say yes, but I’ll get it.”

“Yes, Amos. Christ,” Alex grits. “Whatever you’re doing, do it already.” He realizes too late that he’s given Amos the keys to the kingdom.

Amos seizes it with parted lips, circled in one smooth motion around the crown of Alex’s cock. His good hand circles around the base. Thumb nudges pressure into Alex’s balls, making his hips jerk off the wall. Alex grits his teeth, tries to keep his body still. But it’s damn hard with how Amos looks. On his knees, mouth warm and wet around Alex’s cock. Alex’s shaft blushes hotter between his lips. Amos’ mouth slacks wider to accommodate him, and offers a murmur of appreciation.

“You…oh god.” Alex’s voice breaks. Amos doesn’t inch more of him in, doesn’t give him a pump of a hand around his shaft. He swallows in one ungodly motion that leaves Alex clawing at anything he can get his hands on; Amos' hair, his neck, his face. Amos’ eyes close, expression as peaceful as a deep sleep. Color stains his cheeks. No gagging sounds, no signs that he can’t breathe.

Amos doesn’t _do this_ though. Hell, Amos needs convincing to go down at all. Says it’s awkward; son of a bitch always works a blowjob out of Alex this way. “Amos, you don’t...” Alex’s words aren’t working.

Amos is so far down on him. Low hums of concentration shiver down Alex’s nerves. Alex stares at that one obnoxious blinking light above his bunk. He tries to focus. He needs to get his voice back, and some control with it.

Amos is still all the way down on him. Alex grits out surprise when he feels his cock bump something. The back of Amos’ throat, he realizes with alarm. Still no struggle, no choking. Amos has a hand between his thighs, thumbing across his scrotum, making Alex’s breath catch in his throat. Alex is dizzy. And if he’s dizzy, what the hell is Amos feeling? Amos’ head bobs in tight, close motions. Alex balls a fist on his hair. “You gotta breathe sometime,” he reminds. His voice sounds like he’s gone 10 rounds. “You hear me, partner? Don’t push it.”

He’s answered by Amos’ tongue dragging under of his cock. A more frantic motion of his head. Fingers cup him from behind, forcing his hips to buck closer. Alex chews his lip and tries to keep still. Last thing he needs is to choke the guy. Heat stings in Alex’s gut. It’s blooming too fast, bubbling out of control. Too wrapped up in wet, warm, worry, and _too much-_.

Alex tries to push Amos’ off. “Jesus,” he gasps, “slow down, Amos. I’m serious.”

He squeezes a hand on Amos’ injured shoulder. A tight sound hooks in Amos’ throat. He rocks back on his heels, Alex’s cock popping free with a wet, startled sound. His eyes are dark and wild, scanning around, seemingly unsure of what happened. Alex cock bobs spit-shined between them. He tries to swallow back his groan of loss; impossible when he sees how swollen Amos’ mouth is.

“Why’d you do that?” Amos’ voice is gravel, like he just got punched in the throat. “I hurt you or something?”

“You…” Alex’s words trail off when he notices right where Amos’ good hand is. Dug into the front of his briefs, hand around his own cock.

“Didn’t mean to hurt you,” Amos’ words slur together. He leans on Alex’ thigh. Mouths at it, teeth catching the skin. “Wanted you to cum down my throat, that’s all. God, I wanted that.”

“You _never_ want me to cum down your throat,” Alex balks. “Always spit, you son of a bitch.” Amos’ stubble scratches his leg.

“I know,” Amos says. “But I want it now. Let me get you off, Alex. I’ll do it slow as you want. Come on, brother.”

“What if I don’t want to, huh?” The words are out before Alex can take them back. Before his mind can wrap around what he’s asking for. “Thought you were gonna fuck me. You get cold feet or something?”

Amos actually laughs at the question. Quiet, almost hysterical. It’s not like Amos at all. “I can’t fuck you,” he says. His mouth latches to Alex’s thigh and sucks the hickey he’s already left to an even deeper bruise.

“Jesus,” Alex grits, fist scrubbed across Amos’ hair. “Why the hell not?”

“If I fuck you like this, you’re not walking for a week,” Amos tells him. “What if we've got to take off? Who you giving the pilot’s chair to?” The words don't match his actions. Face, lips, good hand rubbing Alex’s skin like Amos wants to burrow his way inside. Alex doesn’t miss the hungry looks Amos keeps shooting at his cock.

Someone who isn’t crazy would take the out when given the opportunity. But Alex stopped being sane awhile ago. “I’m a big boy, Amos,” he barks. “You don’t have to protect me.”

“Yeah, I do,” Amos counters. His glare looks more like himself. “I told you, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.” Of all the things for him to sober up on...

Alex wraps a hand around his own dick and gives it a long stroke. He’s still slick and hot from Amos’ mouth. Amos’ full attention is on him. Angry eyes shift between Alex’s face and his hand. “How about you fuck me," Alex suggests, "or I get myself off and you get jack?”

Offense clips in Amos’ throat. His head tilts towards Alex’s cock, tongue dragged across lips still wet form his own sucking. “I could top you off?” Amos suggests. He sounds smaller than he ever should.

Alex gives himself another pump. His legs clench together, and his hips buck off the wall. Amos makes another sound, even more aggravated. “Fuck or nothing, partner. You better pick soon.” Alex jerks himself again. “Me and my hand are _real_ familiar with each other.”

He knows Amos is strong, but he’s still caught off guard by how easily Amos rips his hand off. He pins it to the wall, taking over with a slow rub of his face against his shaft. Alex hisses. “Amos, goddamn it!” Stubble stings hot up his already too-sensitive cock.

Angry as he is, he still gawks at the saliva that stains Amos’ cheek. Alex can barely see his eyes through his slit lashes. “Fine. I’ll fuck you, Alex,” Amos murmurs. “I’ll fuck you real good, promise.” He lifts his head, mouth covering a hipbone. He nuzzles, licks. Speaks against it in a low rumble. “You just gotta let me know if I’m hurting you, all right? Please don’t make me hurt you. You’re so goddamn hot, Alex-” Amos’ incoherent rambles shudder against Alex’s pelvis. The words are a mess, but his voice is like sex.

No way in hell is he letting Amos talk him off. Drug or not, Amos will never let him live it down. “Lube’s in the top drawer,” he says.

Amos rises like spirits are controlling him and walks to the small table next to Alex’s bunk. It gives Alex time to try to get his breaths back to normal. When he manages to walk to the cot, he feels the bruise Amos left stretch on his thigh. It aches and makes good feelings flutter down Alex’s spine. His cock is so heavy already, bumping his stomach with each step. Alex wraps a hand around himself. His legs are like jelly.

Alex sits on the edge of his cot and allows himself a long look down the back of Amos’ body. Shoulders broad and strong, blood on his bandages. His shoulder blades shift under his skin as he sifts through Alex’s stand contents. Waist cut like a corner, ass and thighs thick. Tattoos and scars are landmarks on his skin. A few bruises too, purple-yellow welts that draw Alex’s attention.

“You should do it,” Amos says. Alex frowns at the lube bottle that lands in his lap. Amos' smile looks like pain. “Not good on patience right now.”

He’s right about that. Alex wonders when he became this good at drowning out the warning bells in his head. Alex’s eyes stray to Amos’ cock, red and thick. Glossy from the lubed hand wrapped around himself. Amos gives himself a slow pump but hisses like his knees are about to give way. His eyes tick between Alex's face and the lube.

Alex’s stare lingers on Amos’ dick, how big it is in those pan hands of Amos’. Alex can already sense how hot his skin must be, what it’s going to feel like pushing up into him. He marvels at the wetness leaking from Amos’ cock, how it smears in with the lube to leave a sweet shine on his skin.

Alex wishes _he_ had a shot to blame for how fucked he is for this guy. He squeezes oil on his hand.

Fingering himself sounds like a fun idea, but it’s awkward as hell to manage. Not exactly pin-up material, legs wide and hips arched to manage the angle it takes to fuck himself. Alex strokes his way past the crown of his hole. He keeps his head down.

Alex splits two fingers inside himself, arching them up as far as he can manage. His wrist is sore from the weird angle. But it’s enough, and it feels good. Alex’s body is already so stimulated. His stomach clenches, waist rocking back to let him get deeper in himself. He tries to work past the anxiousness shivering through his veins.

“Shit, Alex.” Amos’ voice is pure porn. He sounds _wrecked_ , and Alex stares at him. The stunned fixation on his face. His mouth, ovaled in appreciation. The hand has stopped moving on his own cock, grip knuckled white.

This whole scene isn’t Alex’s bag. It took long enough to get used to bottoming for Amos; Alex had bottomed before, but Amos is a whole other beast. Huge and strong, a whole added layer of vulnerability to Alex’s submission. He sure as hell doesn't need an audience on top of giving up control. Alex isn't much of a showman in private, it brings out weird insecurities he didn’t even know he had.

But something about the way Amos is looking at him makes a thrill jump in his chest. _It’s the drug_ , he reminds himself. That’s all it is. It’s not Amos.

Alex holds his gaze as he adds another finger. He fucks himself deep and slow, lets Amos see his mouth open. A grunt of effort as he shifts his legs wider. His cock bobs hot and slow over his stomach. Alex feels how heavy his balls are, shivers as his arm tickles them with every thrust.

It’s not Amos, Alex reminds himself again, watching in awe as Amos’ back flattens on the wall. Like he needs it for support, just watching Alex fuck himself. The hand around his cock still isn’t moving. But the rest of him is. Rolled back on his heels, teeth scraping his bottom lip.

Alex shouldn’t bait him. But he looks so damn hot, strung tight like a wire. “Need me that bad, partner?” he coaxes. Amos chuckles weakly and doesn't deny it..

It hits Alex how much effort Amos is putting into this. How damn worried he is about making the wrong choice. Losing it completely, doing something to Alex they'll both regret.

Alex withdraws his hand. He feels open and soft, permission granted as he opens his knees. “Come on, then.”

Amos obeys like a trained mutt. He’s between Alex’s legs before Alex can count the seconds. Alex isn’t sure what he expects; a shove back on his cot, Amos fucking him like he’s rabid? He isn’t expecting Amos’ hand on his face, or fingers scratched through his beard as he leans for a kiss. It’s warm and insistent, and Alex gives in way too fast. Amos eases him to his back. Alex feels his injured hand drag against his side.

Alex’s lungs are burning when Amos moves to his back. A subtle shift, Alex encased in thighs and weight. He tilts his head for the open-mouthed kiss pressed to the back of his neck. Burst exhales shudder against the top of his spine. Alex hisses at the pressure between his legs. He feels how tense Amos is, the tightness of the stomach pressed to his back.

Amos mouths through his beard. Bites kisses into the dark stubble as he eases his way inside. Just the crown, and Amos groans like it’s the best sex he’s ever had. “You’re good,” he whispers, like inching his cock in is a revelation. “So good, Alex. Thank you, brother.”

If Alex survives, he’s mocking Amos into the outer reaches for this. Right now, Alex can only grunt his acceptance and scissor his legs wider. Amos pushes into him. Pressure swells, and Alex moans. His neck strains when Amos forces his head to turn, pulls him into a kiss.

They’re turning before Alex can wrap his brain around it. He’s too busy with Amos’ mouth. Amos’ good hand scratches down his throat. Then, his thigh is over Alex’s. He’s sandwiched in Amos’ weight. They’re on their sides, and Amos is fucking him short and deep. He lets Alex’s mouth go and buries his face in Alex’s hair. Curses muffle in it as Alex forces his leg higher, makes more of Amos’ weight angle into his ass.

Amos may only have one good hand, but he makes use of it. It slides down Alex’s throat, flattens on his chest. It rises and falls with Alex’s breaths, and through the tangle of dark curls on his stomach. Whispers like prayers across the soft swell of his belly. And to the thicker strands at his cock. He hooks his hand around the base, a pump of Alex’s shaft still wet from Amos’ mouth.

Alex bucks into him, groaning. Amos’ mouth can’t seem to decide what it wants to taste. It’s at Alex’s ear, suckling on the lobe. Then on his neck. His jaw. The base of his scalp. Buried in his hair. His breaths are thick and unsteady.

The cot twangs in protest as they move again. Amos’ kiss gives way to space. Alex’s back on the bed. Amos kneels over him, staring down with eyes that barely seem human. The new angle lets Amos drive in full, taking Alex’s body completely. Long strokes of his cock inside. Alex’s legs spread wider for him.

Usually, Alex hates this position. He doesn’t want the eye contact, he wants to lose himself in being fucked. But Amos is _so far gone_. His hand splays on Alex’s stomach to keep his balance. Injured arm curled at his side. The blood on the bandages stands out in contrast to the flush of arousal on his skin. Alex feels too full. It hurts, and it’s _perfect_. Amos fucks him, and it’s right where it should be. Right where Alex starts losing reality. It’s fuzzing over and too warm, and his hands shake. Alex grips his bedsheets. Grits curses into the space between them. Tries to latch on to Amos' incoherent babbles.

Amos never talks when he’s close. Alex is used to his short sounds, little reminders that he’s human, that he can fall apart as much as Alex can. Now, Amos is open like a fresh wound, and Alex wants to remember everything. Wants to hold it over him from now until whenever they end. Who knows when that might be, life they’re living. Might be years from now, might be next week.

But Alex is too busy clawing bedsheets. Amos fucks him, and his waist juts, uncontrolled. He claws over Amos' fingers flat on his stomach. Amos’ grip goes iron around his. Alex has some awesome joke in mind about holding hands before they cum. but it’s gone as soon as he thinks it. Everything’s gone, except  Amos. Pleasure rides over his face.

Alex realizes, miserably, that he’s as snared up as Amos is - and Amos has a goddamn drug to blame for it.

Alex’s back curls from the mattress, ass swollen hot by Amos’ body. His legs burn from being stretched so wide. His cock smears on Amos’ goddamn washboard of a stomach, saliva and precum staining his skin.

Alex lets Amos’ hand go and wraps it around himself. Pumping hard and fast, letting the pulse spill out of him. The drumming in his head turning into white noise. His breaths stop for a moment, caught on a silent shout. White and hot, cum on his belly and Amos’ fingers.

Alex twitches as he’s wrung out. His waist juts higher. Wet thumb smeared across his lips. Alex’s mouth pops open on a hissed curse. Amos kisses him, lips and tongue hungry for Alex’s taste. Alex back aches in protest. His cock draws its spent into Amos’ skin. Amos’ hand is in his hair, mussing it up wet and sticky. His thumb scratches at his beard. Alex is stained with himself. He’s so loose and fucked through, he can’t stop the high sound that whimpers out of him.

Also can’t stop the wonder at Amos’ reaction; the trembling, “Alex- _shit,_ Alex-” before a kiss. Hot and open, like Alex’s body when Amos shoots into him. Alex hisses as Amos' waist bucks and shudders against him. He lets himself be filled, thinks all sorts of crazy things as they’re tangled up in each other. Long-term things. Ill-advised things.

Amos backs away enough to breathe against Alex’s lips. A graze of a kiss in the space between them. Their noses touch. Alex feels engulfed. His body is so damn sore, but he’s can’t muster any fucks about it. He’ll be limping like hell for awhile. If Cap notices, he’ll give Alex so much shit.

It takes a few minutes to untangle themselves. A few more for Amos to manage to roll to his side in a way that doesn’t put strain on his bad shoulder. Alex gives him his back; feels like a defaced Picasso, all bruised and sticky. His legs are burning. He needs a few minutes before he tries to get dressed and hit the wash room.

“How you feeling?” Alex asks.

“Like shit,” Amos mumbles back. “But better. Thanks.”

“You got it.” Alex closes his eyes. Tries to wind down. They’re quiet for awhile, Alex concentrating on slowing his heart rate down. Trying not to concentrate on the even breaths behind him.

“Said I’d kiss you on the mouth when you found us,” Amos remarks. “Not what I had in mind.”

Alex snorts and glances over his shoulder. The tired smile he gets looks a hell of a lot more like Amos. “Yeah well, stop getting shot and this won’t happen.”

“I don’t know.” The smile ticks a fraction higher. “Might still happen a time or two.”

“Oh yeah?" Alex raises a brow. "Who says? You?”

Alex sets himself up. Can’t hide the way his body shifts towards the thumb Amos grazes down his side. “Yeah,” Amos replies. “Me.”

Alex makes a show of huffing and turning back around. “Shut up,” he mutters. But when Amos’ arm loops around his waist, Alex lets himself be held.

*The End*


End file.
